of forgotten dreams and strangers in bars
by johnlaurens
Summary: "The man studied her, carefully. "You know, studies show that people feel more alleviated from stress, or sadness, when they talk about it." His eyes pierced hers. "You want to talk about it?" Riley scoffed, suddenly wary. "With a complete stranger? In a bar? At 3:30 A.M? Sounds like fun.'" Riley/Farkle, with a sliver of Lucas/Maya; AU; One-shot.


Riley Matthews sighed, sitting in the bay window of her large, New York penthouse. It was her twenty-first birthday, and she was all alone.

Granted, it _was_ 2:58 A.M...

The tall brunette had made it a habit, on her birthday, to stay up until 3:02- the exact time in which she was born. The act of knowing when she was brought into the world, gave her some comfort. She definitely needed it, seeing as how she had no friends, and no family.

How did she get here? Not two years ago, she was in this exact spot- but with her parents, her fiancé, and her best friend.

Of course, that day hadn't gone according to plan at all. Her parents disapproved of her marrying so young, and "throwing her life away."

Hypocrites. _They_ got engaged at their high school graduation.

Then, there was Lucas and Maya... Her two best friends. She _still_ couldn't believe it. Maya, the one person that she had always counted on, that she had always trusted, had gone directly behind her back, with Lucas in tow. It was, like, all that anybody had wanted to do, on that day, was hurt her.

3:01.

Riley felt her face grow hot, and she knew that she was going to start crying. She had always been such a messy cryer. She made these choked sobbing noises, and scrunched her face, unattractively.

3:02.

"Happy birthday to me," she said softly, surreally. "Twenty-one years." Standing up, Riley walked over to the kitchen. She poured herself some tea, and gazed out the window, aimlessly. Twenty-one years ago, on December eighth, 2002, Cory and Topanga Matthews welcomed their daughter into the world.

She didn't need them. She didn't need Maya and Lucas. Her life was her career: a, rather successful, journalist for _'The New York Times_.' It was all she could ever want, yet, she still felt oddly empty.

It was snowing. Beautiful, crystalline flakes, that formed wonderfully snowy paths, fell from the sky. Riley had always loved snow. It had been one of her favorite things about living in Manhattan. She and Maya loved to have snowball fights, on those chilly days, in which they were allowed to stay home from school. She looked away; the memories were too painful.

Needless to say, the snow didn't have the same appeal, anymore.

All that the young journalist wanted, was to be happy again. To be that kind, smart, naive young girl. She may not be mean, and she was certainly still quite intelligent, but she had been drained of that childlike innocence.

Not even the upcoming holiday season, had succeeded in raising her spirits. The only decoration she currently possessed, was a teeny Bonsai tree, with a couple of ornaments.

What a shame, really. She lived in such a spacious apartment. Riley had gotten it last year- her old one was filled with too many memories, and it was slowly drowning her in nostalgia. Her new home was hers, but not... _hers_.

She would've gotten a Christmas tree (if only for the sake of cheering herself up), but that would mean gathering the courage to go outside for something other than work, and interact with people. She couldn't do it.

Or could she?

Glancing at her silver teapot, she caught sight of her reflection- cold eyes, a permanent frown on her face. The combination added to her years, and she appeared to be one of those curmudgeonly old ladies, who yelled at kids to stop throwing frisbee in the lawn. She didn't want to be like that.

She wasn't vibrant, not anymore. Where had that perky girl gone? Was she _truly_ lost forever?

_No_, the brunette decided. _I just need to coax her back out again._

Throwing on a navy blue overcoat and a white beanie, she strode out of the apartment, feeling out if her element. The spacious halls were dark, but Riley could see a plethora of sparkly holiday decór on the walls. She walked a little quicker, keeping her eyes on the carpeted floor.

After a- rather long- ride in the elevator, Riley timidly pushed open the door.

A blast of cool air slapped her in the face, and she tugged her coat closer to her body. She wore thick, white tights (the kind that cover your feet) under a black pantsuit. Onyx Mary Janes were situated delicately on her small feet.

She didn't know where she was going. All she knew, was that she couldn't stay, all alone, in her barren apartment, on her birthday- it was _way_ too depressing.

Teeth chattering, she rubbed the palms of her hands together, in an attempt to generate heat. Why the hell had she stayed in New York? They had offered her a job in California- _warm, sunny, Los Angeles_\- and she hadn't even considered it; back then, she had been under the influence that the people who loved and cared for her were here.

(She was more than a little bitter.)

That had been a while ago. Riley knew how the journalist scene worked; the position had, almost certainly, been filled.

She happened upon 'Simmons' Pub,' a local bar. In need of someplace to escape the biting winter, Riley ducked into the bar. Loud yells were heard from the moment she stepped inside. There was a clamor of people staring at a television screen- _a football game of sorts,_ she reasoned, as the group cheered and jeered. It wasn't a particularly neat establishment; there was broken glass on the floor, and a pungent smell of spilled cocktails. Riley scrunched her nose, and sat down at the counter.

"What can I get 'ya?" A burly man, sporting a bushy mustache, queried. She was about to ask for some H20, when she realized,

_I'm twenty-one, now. I can legally drink._

Aside from the few sips her mother used to slip her, once she entered adolescence, and that one Piña Colada, she had accidentally drank, Riley had never actually tasted alcohol.

"Um, a glass of wine please- nothing too strong."

The bartender eyed her, suspiciously. Her shaky words, and sweaty palms were probably not helping her. "This your first time, sweetheart?"

Riley nodded, shyly.

"If you want me to bring you the goods, you're going to have to slip me something extra."

The brunette rolled her eyes. "It's perfectly legal. I'm twenty-one, as of-" she checked her watch. 3:27. "- twenty-five minutes ago."

The bartender merely quirked his eyebrow, skeptically.

"Water, please." She said, sighing in irritation.

"You shouldn't have given up so easy." Riley, startled, nearly fell out of her chair. Looking to her right, tentatively, she saw a man who appeared to be her age. He had light brown hair, and bright blue eyes. He wore a cobalt turtleneck beneath his black coat, she noted, amused.

"I'm not really up to the challenge." She replied, feeling her cheeks grow hot. Being observed by strangers was not a daily activity in Riley's life. "Not today anyways," she added, muttering.

"Rough times?"

"Something like that."

Turtleneck-man studied her, carefully. "You know, studies show that people feel more alleviated from stress, or sadness, when they talk about it." His eyes pierced hers. "You want to talk about it?"

Riley scoffed, suddenly wary. "With a complete stranger? In a bar? At 3:30 A.M? Sounds like fun."

He smiled slightly, and Riley noticed just how handsome he was. The though made her blush, yet again. "I'm a good listener," he added.

The brunette gaped at him, and his sincerity. "You're serious?"

He nodded. Riley, besides herself, soon found that she was telling this charming man everything: her parents, Maya, Lucas. Anything, and everything, that had gone wrong, in the last few years.

"I just... want to be that girl again. I want to stop being so damn cynical, all the time, and see life through those, metaphorical, rose-colored glasses."

Somehow, through all her teary-eyes confessions, the man had shuffled closer to Riley, and put his arm around her. The journalist's head was also lying on his shoulder- however, when she realized this, her head shot upwards.

"Look at me- I just spilled my guts out, to somebody who, for all I know, could be a serial killer!"

The potential sociopath cracked a grin. "I'm not a serial killer."

"I bet that's what all serial killers say..." She laughed, a melodious sound. Then, she paused. "What _is_ your name?"

"Farkle. Farkle Minkus." He answered, confidently

"Right," Riley retorted, "and I'm Serendipity Lollipotis."

The man, 'Farkle,' pulled out his ID. His name was Farkle Minkus, he was 6'2, and twenty-two years old. "Of course," he told her, eyes glinting with mischief, "this could easily be a fake. I'm kind of a genius; I graduated high school with 299 A's."

Riley scoffed. "300."

Farkle, who had been putting his identification back inside his wallet, swiveled to face Riley, in alarm. "What?"

"I," she said, slowly, and enunciating every word, "graduated with 300 A's."

Dumbfounded, he fixed his azure eyes on her. A grin broke out on his face, and he clapped slowly. "You're qute the catch, mystery woman."

The brunette blushed, yet again, feeling oddly giddy. "It's Riley, Riley Matthews." He chuckled amiably, and raised his beer. She did the same with her water, and they clinked the glasses.

"To new opportunities." Riley decided.

"Hear, hear!"

"Last call!" The bartender shouted. Farkle motioned to the door, and the two maneuvered their way out of the stuffy pub. "Can I walk you home?" He queried. Riley shook her head.

"I feel wide awake." She whispered, and ran through the snowy ground, chestnut waves soaring behind her.

Farkle caught up to her easily, and grabbed her around the waist, instinctively, jerking them both to the ground, giggling like a pair of five year olds engaging in a game of tag.

"Hi." Riley smiled.

"Hi."

She layed down on the floor, feeling strangely euphoric. God, she hadn't been this happy, had this much fun, in ages. Moving her hands up and down, she imprinted her slender figure into the chilly ground.

"I made a snow angel!" She declared. "Maya and I used to make them, all the time." That was the first time, since her estrangement from the petite blonde, that Riley could bask in a memory, as opposed to wallowing in one.

Whoever this guy was, it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep him around.

She was snapped out of her reverie, when a cold, wet, abrasion hit her in the back of her head. Whirling around, in mock anger, she saw a smirking Farkle, and felt a strong surge for vengeance. She shuffled up some snow, and pressed her icy hand to his, relatively warm, forehead. The water trickled down, and Farkle took her hand away.

"That was _way_ crueler than what I did!" He joked.

"You reap what you sew!" It was then that Riley realized, that Farkle was still holding onto her hand. They both blushed, and he let go (in a seemingly unwilling fashion).

They both stood up, and Riley still felt little shots of electricity, where Farkle had held her hand.

It was a nice feeling.

* * *

Riley sighed, happily, as she shuffled into her apartment. The night had sadly drawn to a close, when they both realized that they were out way too late, for two respectable adults.

It had been the perfect night...

Suddenly, a thought gripped Riley: she didn't haves his number. How would she ever see him again?

Granted, Farkle Minkus couldn't be a very common name... Getting out her computer, she quickly typed his name into the Google search engine.

_Did you mean: Father Mellow?_

_Showing results for: Father Mellow._

_Father Mellow is a mid-depression Blues artist, who-_

"This is impossible." She groaned. Farkle had no connection to him, whatsoever- no social media, no blogs. Not even and award for graduatingwith 299 A's.

_He might've given you a fake name_, a nasty little voice inside her head, whispered.

"He wouldn't do that. Not everybody is bad. People have their reasons." She assured herself. The twenty-one year old yawned, and rubbed her eyes, before collapsing on her bed, from exhaustion. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins was gone- and with it, the feeling of being utterly invincible. She fell asleep with one thought coursing through her mind:

_People have their reasons._

* * *

When she woke up, the next morning, it took a while to adapt to the real world. She had dreamt of the past, of Maya. She had never really examined her best friends's reasons. When they were younger, it had almost always been about Riley.

She should stop being so hung up on the 'who,' and start to focus on the 'why.' Did Maya love Lucas? Did Lucas love Maya?

She didn't know. Riley felt a pang of guilt at this. She and Maya were supposed to have told each other everything. They were in it together. They always had been.

Now, Riley was being rudely awoken to just how selfish she had been.

Unable to cope with this, the brunette stumbled out of bed and picked up the phone, dialing the number that she had never truly forgotten.

"Maya? Hi.. It's, me. It's Riley. We need to talk...

* * *

A week later, Riley Matthews was practically unrecognizable to those at the newspaper. She was perky, happy all the time, wore short dresses with bright colors, and was hardly ever seen without a smile.

Sporting a bright pink sundress, the brunette walked alongside a small blonde, with curly hair and beautiful eyes, the color of the ocean. The latter wore a black 'Pink Floyd' t-short, with jeans and combat boots. The duo conversed amicably, and laughed together.

They were Riley Matthews and Maya Hart. They were best friends, yet again.

The pair was just coming out of a lunch with one Lucas Friar, fiancé to said petite blond. Maya, a successful artist, usually hung around Riley, when she didn't have to report to the gallery.

A red-headed, bushy-tailed intern rushed up to Riley.

"Miss Matthews, the Senator wishes to speak to you." She squeaked. Maya quirked her eyebrow at her best friend, who seemed confused.

"Me? A Senator? I haven't done a story on a Senator." She replied.

"He says it's personal, Miss Matthews." The intern explained. Riley nodded curtly, giving Maya a small smile. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she followed Julia- the intern- to where this Senator was waiting.

Julia knocked on the door sharply, and gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to her superior, which Riley countered with a friendly grin.

Carefully walking into the room, she nearly fainted. Senator? Senator, indeed.

Senator Farkle Minkus.

"Oh, my god." She whispered. Farkle smiled at her, raising his hand to gently caress her cheek.

"I would've found you sooner- but you have no idea how many Riley- freaking- Matthews there are in Manhattan. A journalist, eh? Suits you." He told her, smiling fondly.

"A senator?" She questioned.

"I always wanted to rule the world, when I was a kid. I figure this is as close as I'll ever get."

"Dream big, Farkle." She said, still in awe. Despite being in a complete state of shock and surrealism, Riley Matthews knew how to articulate the one thing she definitely wanted to do.

Grabbing hold of his shirt's lapel, she pressed her lips against his, relishing in the feeling. It may be a cliché, but, in that moment, Riley understood what it felt like to have 'fireworks.' She didn't have them with Lucas.

But, with Farkle, she not only felt happy, and safe, and bubbly, and immune to anything evil in general- she felt loved.

It was nothing short of wonderful.

* * *

_And, that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed that teeny, little Farkle/Riley one-shot. I could not find any of them, on here, and since I love this ship so much, I decided to contribute. _

_If you you liked this, please check out my other GMW one-shot, 'Unfathomable.' It's a little wacky, and Riley-centric, but I hope you enjoy it._

_Please take the time to review, constructive criticism is appreciated!_

_Thank you for reading,_

_~ Mara_


End file.
